Split Perspective
by coefficientheidi
Summary: A variety of drabbles from the points of view of a variety of characters.
1. First Kiss

_First Kiss_

**Botan**_  
><em>

I'm behind again.

Not anybody's fault but my own, really. We ferry girls are trained to be prompt and dependable, no matter what. People might be surprised at how important those qualities are for this job—I know I was. Did you know that about 150,000 people die per day in the human world? That's a lot of souls to ferry, if you ask me!

Oh, I know what you must be thinking; what a time for depressing statistics. But just look on the bright side: For every person who dies, on average two are born. Isn't that lovely? The ones who think so, too, aren't usually the ones who meet me, though. You aren't angry with me yet? Really? Well, that's quite a relief, but I should warn you that I've the whole spirit world guide book memorized, including the section on dealing with rotten-tempered souls,so don't try to make me any more late than I already am, and hold on tight!

Oh dear, Koenma will not be pleased. He's the one I have to worry about, you know. But what am I saying? He's really a spitting guy, when you get right down to it. Efficient as can be! What an honor it is to work for him.

Are you thinking about your life? I find that people often do. Some of them have a lot of regrets; I didn't know it was possible to regret so much. I can't think of anything I've regretted, besides making silly mistakes—oh, you know, things easily forgotten. Maybe regret would be a nice thing to feel, even if it hurts. I've always been ferrying souls, as long as I can remember. I think that you must have been very lucky; I wasted quite a bit of time with you, just watching, you see.

Sometimes it's just too painful to tear someone away right when they die, can't you imagine it?

Well, I've said sillier things, I suppose.

I think that your wife loved you very much. What did that feel like, being loved? Well, how ridiculous of me. Of course it must have been wonderful.

Can you remember your first kiss, the day of your wedding? I'm sure you remember when your children were born. I've never been kissed. I'm only a spirit, you see. We don't concern ourselves with such things. We must simply perform our spirit world duties. What would it be like if my only duty was to be loved? Would it be possible to fail at that?

Surely you've thought of what such a thing means. Love makes everything worthwhile. Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't be nearly as chipper if I didn't have such good friends. Being hated so intensely by so many people only makes love more special.

I'd find it difficult to love the grim reaper, too, probably.

You can tell whether a person was loved by how they die, you know. The ones who weren't are restless in the afterlife. They must wonder what it would have been like, just like I do. I don't have what you had. I've ferried couples who died together, wrapped up in each other's arms. How romantic!

Oh, but don't be sad. You two will meet again, I'm sure. Love always finds a way. Even if things are dreary, the sun can't stay hidden forever, that's what I always say. I don't think I have anyone who would die with me, or for me—I can't even die. Not to say I'd want to! Just listen to me, being silly again.

You've been awfully quiet. Don't be afraid. Not a thing to worry about here! Just through these doors is where I'm assigned to bring you. Goodness, I've rambled the whole way, haven't I? Well, what's done is done.

Just don't let yourself be too nervous, I'm sure what you're expecting is a lot worse than reality.

Oh, and do try not to laugh; he hates that!


	2. Melody

_Melody  
><em>**Yusuke**

Guess who sucks a giant monkey cock.

Madonna.

And guess what music Keiko's making me listen to right now.

Well, I guess I can't say I hate Madonna, she's pretty hot for an older lady. I should know, I spent an asscrack and a half with a pink-haired bitch who probably had better abs than I do.

And now I'm going to think of her every time I hear Madonna.

_Fuck._

I guess this music sucks slightly less than that piano guy sucks a monkey cock. What was his name again? Starts like mozzarella. . . Mozart! Yeah, Mozart.

The thing is, Keiko listens to this stuff while she works out. Keiko's a really clean girl, see. Not only does she take hour-long showers every day, she's the kind of chick every parent would want their son to marry. She follows rules, likes to do chores, put like three fire extinguishers in the kitchen alone. She's safe. Clean and safe.

So I was pretty surprised when I realized she listened to this stuff. Says it's her childhood. And I guess it's mine, too—what boy _hadn't _snuck into a strip club by the age of 13?

I'm sure these melodies don't remind Keiko of topless women and the musk of beer and cheap cigarettes.

But as I'm sitting here on the sofa, watching my wife's womanly bits attempt to jiggle beneath that stupidly restrictive and unnecessary full-body exercise suit, I'm thinking to myself, _Wow, I could really go for some mozzarella sticks right now. _

Also, Keiko's got a really nice ass.

And I'm thinking, if she's got a nice ass, then whenever we have kids, they're probably going to inherit it. What if we have a daughter with Keiko's sexy ass and my rock-hard abs? And I know this is a stretch, but what if someday, somewhere, some guy is staring at my daughter's fine ass and _not _thinking about mozzarella sticks?

I think this will be an issue.

I don't want her to be taken for granted. I don't want her to take _herself_ for granted. It shouldn't be about asses, or abs, or mozzarella sticks, right? It should be about liking those things because they're not all you've got. It's okay to have secrets. It's okay to be boring and safe and wear full-body exercise suits even when you've got a really nice ass, and it's okay to lay on the couch thinking about food and Madonna when you could be off in some other dimension kicking ass. Happiness isn't a physical thing. All that stuff fades away eventually. Every fucking time some asshole told me I was lazy or worthless or stupid, I swear to fuck, they had it wrong. I found the people who thought I was worth believing in, and if they're not worth my time now, then I don't know what is.

I had to fight to get here, but if everything melted away right now and all I had was the people in my life, I'd still be happy. And no kid of mine is gonna be without that. Or mozzarella sticks.

And I have no idea where I'm going with this, but I think I want some hot sauce, too.


	3. Diary

_Diary_

**Kuwabara_  
><em>**

I never told nobody this, but when I was a kid, I kept a diary for a week.

Dunno why. It started out as my sister's, but Shizuru isn't all that sentimental, so she gave it to me. I didn't know what to do with it at first. All those blank pages—it seemed like just another assignment for school, and everybody knows I'm no good at those.

I didn't have a whole lot back then, must've been seven or eight, I was alone most of the time, didn't have many friends. Hard to imagine, I know, but I wasn't always as tough and cool as I am now.

So one day, I was by myself, like usual, and I just started writing.

The first page, I filled it up with names. Names of people I loved, but that made me sad pretty quick, 'cause I loved my dad but if he really loved me, then why wasn't he around much?

I started asking the diary questions. For every one I wrote, five more popped into my head.  
><em><br>Why can't I be good at school? Is that why dad leaves? How come people make fun of me? What if I can't ever be good enough? How do I be stronger?_

My dad once told me that real men gotta pick a road and follow it no matter what anybody thinks. He also said real men don't get scared. But I _was _scared, and that was the problem. If I was gonna ever be good enough to make anyone proud, I couldn't be afraid no more.

There was this really pretty girl in my class named Saki. She sat a row behind me, and her eyes were bright blue, like the sky or the background of my holographic Megallica poster. Just a day after I decided I wasn't gonna be afraid, she asked me if she could borrow a pencil. I figured that pencil must be fate—it'd bring us together if I was brave enough. So that night, I went home, and I tore a page right out of my diary, and I wrote her a note. The note said how I wasn't even surprised she was so pretty since her name meant "blossom" and how her eyes were sparkly like my Megallica poster. I told her she could borrow a pencil from me any time she needed one, because guys should always help a lady in need. I signed the note with my name and I put it in her desk before class, but the weird thing was, she switched seats after she found it, and I didn't even get to sit in front of her anymore. I was sure the note must have made her happy, because she was smiling and laughing with her friends about it.

Girls are just as confusing as they are pretty sometimes.

That night, I went home, and I wrote in my diary some more. I wrote a story about a hero who was strong and brave and adored by everyone. With his fighting headband of love, he always did the right thing. He was a real man.

And that was when I realized that if I wanted to be a real man, I had to make more changes than just being brave. I couldn't look like the same guy as before, there had to be something different if I wanted to be recognized. I went into the bathroom and found some of my dad's old hair gel, and the next morning, I got up a whole 15 minutes early to put it on.

I thought everything was gonna go great for me that day, but I'd made big mistake. I was so worried about the hair gel that I accidentally picked up my diary along with my school books and took it to class with me. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered, but my sis was too poor to buy me a backpack, so at lunch when I saw some kid getting pushed around by a couple of punks who used to pick on me, I had no way to hide the diary.

But I saw them slam that kid real hard into the ground, and decent people just don't let that kind of stuff go down if they can help it.

"Hey!" I shouted at them, and I ran over before they could hurt the kid any more. "Leave him alone, you jerks!"

One of the bullies said, "Hey, look, it's that orange-haired dweeb. This is none of your business, how about _you_ leave _us _alone?"

I could feel myself shaking a whole lot, but I knew I couldn't back down or else I was gonna hate myself for it later. "I'll leave if you leave," I said. "We don't gotta fight."

Those guys laughed real hard at that. The tallest one started walkin' toward me. "We don't gotta fight, eh?" he said to me. "That's the sorta crap I'd hear from a girl. Your hair's sure looking shiny today, dweeb. Did you get your hair done? Are you a girl?"

He raised his hand and knocked all the books right out of my arms.

"Girls shouldn't have to carry their books, right?" he said. "Lemme help you with that, Miss."

He bent down, and just as luck would have it, picked up the exact same book that shouldn't have even been there because I didn't want nobody to see it. It took him a second to realize, and then I could tell he got really happy about it. It couldn't have gotten much easier for him.

"What's this, a diary? Do you keep a diary, sweetheart?" He held it up in the air and said to his friends, "Hey, look, this little shit keeps a diary!" They laughed.

Then he did something I really didn't like, which was open it up and look inside.

"These are some real nice pictures," he said. "Is this one a princess? You wanna be a princess, right?"

"Shut up!" I said, and he snorted and chucked the diary at me. It hit the ground with the pages in the dirt.

"Why don't you go play with your boyfriend, princess?" the guy said, looking over at the kid I'd distracted them from. "I promise we don't have to fight any more today. You can write in your diary all about how you saved him from the mean—"

He got cut off right there, because I did something then that I'd never done before.

I punched that douchebag in the face.

Funny thing, I guess I didn't know my own strength, because he fell over like a limp doll and his nose started bleeding, and once his friends had stopped being so shocked, they pulled him to his feet and left us alone.

The kid I'd helped, he came over and started picking up my books. He was short and a little round but he had an honest face. "Thanks, man," he said. "My name's Okubo."

"Kazuma Kuwabara. And don't sweat it."

He paused, reaching for the diary. "So it's true? You really keep one of these things?"

"'Course not. It's my sister's. Got mixed up with my stuff by mistake."

"Guess that makes sense. Those jerks sure know how to use anything they can to hurt people. That was pretty awesome, what you did. Once word gets around, people'll think twice about bugging you anymore."

"You think so?"

"No doubt about it. Hey, you wanna hang out later?"

* * *

><p>I hid the diary that night. Nearly threw it away, but I couldn't do that, 'cause I guess it was still important to me.<p>

It was probably wrong to lie to Okubo about it, but maybe it didn't matter, because he was better at talking than the diary was anyway.

Sometimes I still look at it, and I don't feel ashamed, even though I know most people wouldn't understand. Like my dad told me, real men gotta follow their own path no matter what people say, and they can do a lot of things and still be men, even keep diaries.

Besides, you gotta have a heart. That's what keeps anything real.


	4. Foolish

_Foolish_

**Keiko**

I'd always been told that I would go far.

My parents and teachers said that I'm capable of anything. With reliability and intelligence, what couldn't I accomplish? I could be a scientist or a doctor. I'm good with people and a decent public speaker, so I could be a politician. I have the power to change the world.

How, then, could the only thing I wanted have been a boy?

And not just any boy, but an exceedingly foolish boy who, time and time again, has proven himself to the most unreliable, inconsiderate pig I've ever known.

My friends have said to me, "Oh, Keiko, you're so pretty and smart. I wish I could be you!"

They look up to me, and that's why, for such a long time, I couldn't tell them.

I couldn't tell anyone.

Not just because it was wrong, but worse: Because I was actually ashamed of my feelings. People were already so proud of me. They were proud of me because I _wasn't_ him, so what would they think if I told them that I had fallen in love with Yusuke Urameshi?

But they never understood. People always criticize when they're on the outside. They always tell you what you can do to make your life better, where you should or shouldn't go, and who you should hold dear.

Yusuke doesn't do that.

Yusuke doesn't_ care_ about those things.

When Yusuke looks into my eyes, he's not comparing my worth to his. I can tell. He's not thinking about what I'll be in ten years, or about how my hair looks today. He's thinking about right now, and right now I'm good enough. Because I'm me.

He likes me, and I'm sure I don't understand why, but he likes me for something far deeper than anything I can describe in words.

Sure, he's a real jerk sometimes. Sometimes it feels like we enjoy bickering more than anything. My time with him has consisted of long periods of uncertainty and frustration punctuated by liberal doses of fear. If I had one-hundred yen for every perverted joke he's made about me and every smack to the face I've given him in return, I wouldn't have to work another day in my life. He's certainly not afraid to make fun of me. He's the only one who really does.

And I've waited so long for him—my whole life.

Maybe I'm the foolish one, waiting for years, wanting him and wanting him but never knowing if he'll return when he leaves, never knowing if he'll die from his own stupidity, or at least as an immediate result of it.

But I had to wait, don't you see? I had to, because that's what you do when you love someone. You have faith in them even when it seems as if nobody else in the world does, and you know that if they love you, and if you're patient, things will work out in the end.

Even now, things won't be easy for us. But the easiest and most obvious routes don't always lead to happiness. Life is complicated and sometimes painful, especially when someone like Yusuke is such a huge part of it. But it's also incredibly rewarding.

We both work most of the time, he at his Ramen stand and myself in the classroom. We have just enough money to pay the bills and buy food. I'm so proud of him. I think he's really, honestly happy. I am, too.

I doubt I'll ever be a scientist or a doctor or a politician. Still, how can I know? I've got my whole life ahead of me. Maybe other women in my position would question themselves, burdening their thoughts with "would have"s and "should have"s. After all, I could be married to wealthy businessman, a famous actor, or at least someone who didn't wolf whistle every time I bent over to pick something up.

But Yusuke is real, and I wouldn't think of choosing anything less.


	5. Conditional

_Conditional_

**Genkai**

Don't be a half-ass.

Do you know how many people like that I've seen? The number is depressing, and, if we're being honest, a fair representation of the grade-A bullshit I've witnessed from the human race so far. It's one of the reasons I prefer to stay indoors nowadays. An old lady like me is cynical, and most everything with two legs and a brain ends up disappointing me somehow. Even after all these decades, I'm still disappointed.

But every once in a blue moon, I'll meet someone who actually shows the balls to live up to their potential. The most recent was a hairgel-slathered dolt named Yusuke Urameshi.

Do you know what I told him?

If you want something, work for it.

"This is stupid," he would say to me. He would say it every time I made him stand in one place or concentrate for more than thirty seconds. "What good is this, you old hag? You think I came here to do yoga?"

And I'd reply, "No, you piece of shit, I think you came here to get something accomplished, and that's what you're sure as hell doing!"

He disliked what I had to say to him. What he meant to say was, "This hurts" or "This is hard" or "I'm not used to this".

"I have no fucking idea why I'm here," he would mutter under his breath.

Stupid kid had never worked for anything in his life. He'd just had piles of neglect handed to him, one after the other, and after that kind of childhood, nothing seemed good enough to work for.

He was a short-sighted jackass. He was there because nowhere else seemed appealing or else because other people had told him to be. He didn't understand how one could possibly be moving forward by continuing to suffer in the same place. "So go home," I'd say. "Go home and sit on your lazy ass in front of a television screen. See if I care."

He didn't go home.

I was glad for that; I did care.

In the beginning, he didn't know why he was there, but he did eventually. Nobody gets anywhere by sitting on their rear end all day. He got a long way from where he was at. It wasn't easy for someone like him, but it happened. Even if his half-brain didn't notice, it was happening all the time.

The truth is that nothing in life comes easily and anything that doesn't hurt a little sure as hell isn't making you stronger. Achievement is conditional. It doesn't matter how much damn potential you have, you won't accomplish anything if you slack off.

I think that I cared about Yusuke more than I had anyone in a long time. He reminded me of someone I knew, when I was I young, who _had _fallen off-course. Someone who'd spent the rest of his life paying for his own failure to exercise mental and emotional stamina.

There are occasions when—in Yusuke's case, especially—it pays off to be an idiot. He doesn't think very hard. If you think too much, then you start looking for shortcuts, all the ways you could make things easier or get somewhere quicker. Maybe he doesn't know much about how he got here, but I do: He moved toward something and he didn't stop punching out whatever got in his way.

There will always be people in the world who aren't able to pull their load—at least that's what they'll tell themselves. It's not that they aren't capable, it's that they don't feel like it. Something you could possibly attain in the distant future does not seem as much fun as a reward you could have right now. I've seen people I cared about become distracted by power and fame and instant solutions. They're not stupid, they were just confused, but it still pisses me off.

I'll say the same thing to anyone who asks me: The only real reward in life is what you've got inside and the people you've got around. If you aren't building pride in that, then choose another damn direction and start walking. If you want something, take it, because half-assing won't get you anywhere. And if you think someone is going to tell you every two steps along the way, "I can see how much you care," and hand you a fulfilling life on a silver platter—

Well, even the biggest dimwit in the world can figure out that's a load of crap.


End file.
